


The Glacian's Gratitude

by Brightwing



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Gen, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-11 20:34:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11722047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brightwing/pseuds/Brightwing
Summary: After all is said and done, Shiva wishes to reward the king's most loyal and faithful companions.





	The Glacian's Gratitude

Some call her cold, but Shiva had always thought that was rather unfair to her. Unfair to the very concepts of cold and ice itself. Shiva didn't like the cold that came with the eternal night. She didn't like the cold, senseless, violence of the daemons. She especially didn't like the coldest thing of all: the fake warmth that the Accursed radiated: a false comfort that preyed on the weak and lured in the desperate then froze souls and chilled mortals to the bone. It's nothing like the cold that Shiva loves. Nothing like the cold that nips at a human's face, made their ears sting, and threatened to bring them to their knees.

Threatened, but never did. Cold enough to oppose them, but never stop them. Cold enough to ignite the flames of human will and strength. Cold enough to show people, gods, and nature alike that they are alive. That they are strong. That they rally, fight, survive, and triumph despite the challenges before them.

Humans thrive in her chilling embrace, they falter and flourish even when frost forms on their hair and limbs and their fingers struggle to move. And for that, Shiva loves them. It's such a pity that Ifrit never shared her opinion, and she cannot see why. What better creature is there that embodies his flames better than the human? Even Leviathan, the wrathful Tidemother herself, has since admitted the worthiness and beauty of the human race, and it's normally very hard to placate a sea serpent scorned.

When the dawn's first light appeared on the horizon, Shiva was thrilled, for the welcome rays of the sun chase away the unnatural darkness and its mocking false cold along with it. The world and its inhabitants would soon remember what true coldness is, a celebration of spirit and a reminder that they are _alive_. They would soon remember that light and chill are not separate, and that there is a beautiful joy in stepping outside on a cold day and enjoy the comforting rays of the sun on one's face at the same time.

She will be eternally grateful to the king who restored the sun, restored the light and reinstated the true cold. But Shiva is not conceited. She knows that her thanks are an empty, meaningless compensation. The never ending gratitude of an Astral isn't worth more than the appreciation of a mortal. No, in fact, she believes it may actually be worth less. A human has only so much thanks to give, and must choose carefully who they give it to. And was it not they, the gods, who caused this in the first place? They who placed the burden of their own folly on the shoulders of an innocent human? Who allowed undue suffering upon not just the human race, but the world as well?

The very least she could do was apologize to them, but Shiva does not believe in doing the minimum. She wished to reward the Chosen King. There was little she can do for him now that he has crossed into the next world, but she suspected she knew what he would have wanted, and that would be for her to pass his well wishes and gratitude to the ones who helped him, the ever loyal and strong companions who stayed by his side, cared for him, and at times, turned against him for his own good.

They were some of the finest examples of humans she had ever seen, and it's only fit to reward them for their own service, to perhaps help soothe their grief if nothing else.

* * *

The first one she visited was the youngest. The one who she liked to say hello to by playfully popping into his photographs in the form of Gentiana. She thinks she heard him call it "photobombing" once. She has no idea what explosive daemons have to do with photographs, but there are things about mortals that even the gods can never understand. She appeared to him at the steps of the palace, which was currently in the process of being rebuilt. Ever the photographer, Prompto was snapping pictures of the process, which he claimed was for documentation purposes.

"Wait, aren't you, uh...Gentiana?"

Prompto nearly dropped his camera in surprise. He knew Gentiana...or was she Shiva? Or should he call her the Glacian? How was he supposed to refer to her? He decided to stick with the first name, the one he was most used to, and hoped he wasn't committing some kind of heresy. Regardless, he knew her only from Noctis' stories of her and from the times she would mysteriously appear in his photos. (Sometimes he liked to pretend she was flirting with him.) But seeing her in person with his own two eyes was something else, like seeing something from a storybook come to life.

Gentiana was there. Real. In front of him. Was he dreaming? Prompto pinched his arm with one hand and let out a yelp in pain. Nope, not dreaming.

Gentiana smiled and walked closer to him. Prompto felt the urge to step back or to the side. He didn't want to get in the way of a _goddess_ , after all, but something kept him rooted in place. It wasn't nervousness, shock, or awe, but it felt as if his legs were quite literally frozen and unable to move. However, it wasn't a frightening or painful feeling, more like a gentle, yet very insistent suggestion to stay. It reminded him of a child clinging to his legs. But colder. Much colder.

"And you are Prompto," Gentiana said, reaching out to brush some of Prompto's hair out of his face. What a vibrant, lively face he had! Gentiana knew he was in his thirties, but despite Prompto's best efforts to grow a beard, (achieving little more than just some peach fuzz on his chin), he hardly looked a day past twenty. Yes, this was a fine example of the vitality and life she has grown to love in humans. It's no wonder this man became one of the Chosen King's most trusted companions. "Since you already know who I am there's no need to introduce myself. I've come with a gift, if you choose to accept it."

Gentiana's hand traced its way from Prompto's shoulder down his arm, leaving an electrifying sense of cold in its wake. Literal chills ran down Prompto's spine and he was rendered completely silent, unsure of what's happening. She stopped at his wrist, taking it in both hands and holding it so delicately it felt like his hand was being held by snow.

"I thought that perhaps I should remove this from you."

"For real!?"

Prompto felt his mouth go dry. He knew all too well what she was referring to, the bar code that permanently marked his skin. A blemish that could not be removed or smudged by anything. Not time, not healing magic, not even fire. But Gentiana is a goddess. It would probably be easy for her to remove it. It would be a dream come true.

But Prompto hesitated. It was a dream, yes, but it was a dream of the past. Ten years ago, he would have said yes without hesitation. He would have done anything to be rid of that cursed mark on his skin. But now he wasn't sure. He thought it would be...kinda weird if it just disappeared just like that. Like if he just woke up one day and poof, it was gone.

And the more he thought about it, the more he didn't like that idea.

Carefully, he removes his wrist from her hold while shaking his head.

"Look," he said, using his newly freed hand to scratch the back of his head. "I don't wanna sound ungrateful. I appreciate it, really. Like, a whole lot. It's super cool that you'd do this for me."

He paused and mentally kicked himself for that pun. Now wasn't the time and place for silliness like that. He didn't mean it. Honest, and he silently prayed that Gentiana wouldn't freeze him on the spot for it. But she did nothing, so he continued.

"But I'm gonna have to say no. This thing." He hesitated slightly before using his other hand to push down his glove and the leather straps that obscured the bar code, showing it to her. "It's not something for me to be ashamed of anymore. It doesn't hurt to look at it anymore. It's hard to explain but...it's kind of like a part of me. I like to think of it as a reminder of where I came from. Where I've been. And where I'm going."

"Yet you still hide it," Gentiana pointed out.

"For fashion reasons," Prompto countered, frowning. "Nah, but seriously, I'm not afraid to show it to people anymore. Kids think it's pretty neat actually. If I don't have it anymore, they'll think I'm lame. So, uh, what I'm saying here is: thanks, but no thanks."

"If that is your decision," Gentiana said, and then she was gone.

* * *

The second one she visited was the king's trusted advisor. Or, perhaps more accurately, his caretaker. The one who saw to the Chosen King's every need, who made himself ever ready to be called upon at a moment's notice. The one who didn't let being robbed of his sight slow him down or shy away from the duty he had pledged not just his life, but his very being to. She used to think she should pity him, but quickly realized that would be doing him a great disservice. He didn't need pity.

"And for what reason has the Glacian deemed me worthy of her presence?"

Rather, she should give him her admiration. She had not said a word, yet Ignis had not only known he wasn't alone, but that he had correctly identified who she was. But perhaps she should have come to expect that from a man who learned to stalk, study, and slay some of the most terrifying creatures known to walk Eos without his eyes.

For Ignis, it was a simple deduction and he would like to think that anyone, blind or not, would have been able to do the same. A sudden burst of cold, a gentle breeze that sounded like the whispers of an ethereal woman, the powerful sensation that he was in the presence of something more than human...who else could it have been?

"I do not come to ask anything of you, or of any other soul who walks this earth," Gentiana said, for she could hear a sharpened pang of hostility in his voice. Of course he didn't wish to speak with her. It was the Six who passed their burdens to humanity, the Six who opened the floodgates to suffering. The Six who robbed Ignis of the life he had lived by dooming his king. She understood, and she knew she had no right to approach him like this.

"Then make it quick. I'm rather busy. Unlike you, we have lives to rebuild," Ignis said, and instead of speaking, Gentiana moved forward. He knew when she reached for him, he could feel the temperature in the air drop and sense her hands getting closer. He allowed her to touch his face, gently placing both hands on his cheeks. As he expected, she was cold to the touch, but it's not a hostile type of cold. It's a refreshing feeling, like splashing cold water on one's face in the early hours of the day.

Gentiana wasn't offended by his sharp words and less-than-friendly demeanor, for he was the embodiment of human ingenuity and resilience. In response to his losses, he had adapted, honed his skills and his person to not only survive the decade of darkness, but grow in it.

"I have come to offer you back what you lost," Gentiana continued, moving her fingertips closer to Ignis' eyes. She didn't elaborate. She didn't have to. Her message was clear, like a single shout on a silent winter's morning. She could restore his sight to not only how it was, but better, giving him perfect vision clear as the purest of ice. It would only be fitting to give him eyes that matched the acuity of his mind.

Ignis was speechless, remembering the days that he dearly wished for his eyesight to return, even just for a day so that he could appreciate the light, the world, and the people he fiercely loved one last time. It would be nothing short of a miracle, like what Lady Lunafreya would perform, but surely something like this would be trivial for a goddess. For a moment, he considered that perhaps she was playing a cruel joke on him, but he knew there was nothing but sincerity from Gentiana's words. That she offered this as both a reward and an apology.

"I decline," he said at long last. "You may think me foolish, but I think I've had enough of divine intervention to last me the rest of my life. I have lived ten years without my eyesight, and I'm quite used to being blind now. I'd rather not have to figure out how to live for the third time, and frankly, I don't care for the idea that I'm something that needs to be fixed. Besides," Ignis paused, wondering if he has made his point clear enough. He decided he had not. "What I mourn losing most is not my sight. It was my purpose. And I've already found a new one. In short, you have nothing to give me."

Gentiana didn't reply and instead left as quietly as she came.

* * *

"Yo, Gentiana."

The third one greeted her first with a casual wave, not at all surprised to see her.

"Knew you were coming," Gladiolus grinned, holding up his cell phone and pointing to it. On the screen was a group text message with Prompto and Ignis. It detailed both of their encounters with Gentiana and a speculation, no, a certainty that Gladiolus would be next. There was no reason he wouldn't be, for they were four, (and they were very insistent that it was _four_ ), that were forever bound to each other in a way that nothing could break. "So I'm just gonna say this right now: whatever it is you're offering, I don't want it. I've got everything I need."

He even went so far to cut her off before she even began. Honestly, Gentiana found it rather amusing. But what else should she expect from this man, the one who had come to be her representation of human steadfastness and power?

Gladiolus lowered his phone, shoving it into his back pants pocket rather haphazardly. He was glad that was settled quickly. He didn't want to hear about whatever it was Gentiana was going to pull out and cause him some kind of existential crisis or whatever. Prompto and Ignis might have entertained her, but he had no patience for this sort of nonsense. Gladiolus was a man who liked to press forward ever on to the future. He didn't like dwelling on the past or worse, standing still in the present. An inability to go anywhere was a true sign of weakness whether one was royal or common, and if Gladiolus knew anything, it was that he was not weak.

He wouldn't allow Gentiana to control this conversation. He was taking it into his own hands and steering it himself.

"There's nothing I need, but that doesn't mean that there isn't anything I want."

Gentiana watched him with a mixture of both confusion and curiosity. Was there something that this man desired that she hadn't thought of? What could he ask for, what did he want so much that he'd try to strong arm a gift from the gods like this? Her lips curled upwards in anticipation. Humans never failed to surprise. Gladiolus leaned over, perhaps enjoying this a little bit too much.

"So. Cup Noodles. I want a ton of them. Enough to last me for a long, long, time."

She could only stare at him in disbelief.

"You know what Cup Noodles are, right? Of course you do. It's not too much to ask, right? You were gonna get rid of that thing on Prompto's arm and give Iggy back his eyes, should be a simple task for you."

A freezing cold gust of wind blew through the area with such ferocity that Gladiolus had to lift up an arm to shield his face from its icy sting. When it died down, Gentiana was nowhere to be seen.

"...was worth a try."


End file.
